Cold
by fullmetalgrigori
Summary: "Coldness. That's all he can really be sure of here." A oneshot about how Fang and Max first met.


**A/N: Now, I really should be working on LSL, but the inspiration struck again and wouldn't go away. This is my first Maximum Ride fic, but I've been an avid reader for a while. I just picked up Angel this past weekend, so no spoilers please! **

**Warning: Parts of this could be considered angsty (I guess). Don't like? Don't read.**

**Disclaimer: Maximum Ride is not mine.**

Cold

Coldness.

That's all he can really be sure of here.

The chemical-filled air, the criss-crossing silver wires of his cage, the steel pan floor, all of it.

Cold.

Everything else is ever-changing. He never knows what tests they'll run, when they'll stick him with their cold, sharp needles, when he'll be moved somewhere else. He knows nothing.

Nothing but the cold.

He can't remember a time when he wasn't surrounded by it. He supposes he's been here his whole life, however long that might be. Time is hard to measure here.

The unmeasurable time is spent alone, punctuated by visits from the men in white coats. He shudders at the thought of them. He thinks they're the reason he's like this.

Poked, prodded.

Examined.

Experimented on.

He doesn't like to think about it.

But there's not much he can avoid when trapped in a cage barely bigger than he is.

He looks around and surveys his already familiar surroundings. He's in a small, harshly lit room. Four walls and a ceiling. He's the only thing in it. It's been that way since he was moved here. He can't see anyone coming, only hear them as the draw near to the corner.

At that moment, he can hear footsteps down the hall. There's really only one reason for them.

They're coming.

He throws himself to the back of his prison, as far away from the door as he can manage.

It never works, but he still tries every time.

A bald, skinny man in a white coat throws open the latch and swings the door open.

He bares his teeth and tries to back up further, his wings digging into the cold wire of the cage.

"The sooner I get what I want, the sooner I'm out of here," the man grumbles irritably as he reaches forward.

He lashes out, catching the man in the arm. He feels a surge of pleasure when he hears a cry of pain.

The man won't go away, though. He reaches his other arm in quickly and yanks out a few feathers.

He doesn't want the man to know that it hurts, but a grunt of pain involuntarily escapes his lips.

A sick, twisted smile appears on the man's face. He slams the cage door so hard that it feels as if the whole world is rattling.

He relaxes slightly once the man turns the corner and leaves. They have what they want. They won't be back for a while. He turns to examine his injury when he hears more footsteps approaching.

Why would they be back so soon? What else could they need?

Two whitecoats round the corner, carrying a cage in between them. In the cage is a girl about his size with brown hair. She's snarling at the men carrying her, reaching a hand out to swipe at them.

He stares. He's never seen anyone else in a cage here before. He thought it was only him.

Maybe he's not alone here.

The girls shifts in her prison. His eyes widen as he takes in the brown, speckled wings on her back, almost identical to his black ones.

She's an experiment too.

A strange feeling starts to grow in him.

The two men slam her down on his right. "You've got company," says one of them.

"Now, play nice," mocks the other. They chuckle and leave the room.

They're left alone.

Nowhere to hide.

They stare at each other for an eternity, his black eyes locked on her brown ones. He examines her closely, trying to absorb everything about her. He can tell that she's doing the same to him.

Could he trust her?

He can't trust anyone here.

But she's an experiment too.

She knows what it's really like.

He finally tears his eyes from hers and turns to check his wing. It's starting to throb.

"You're like me," comes a whisper to his right.

He freezes. He hadn't expected her to talk to him.

He _can _talk, of course. The men in white coats made sure of that. But he doesn't talk if he can help it.

Who is he going to talk to?

Not the whitecoats.

But that's all who's here.

Except her.

He realizes that she's waiting for an answer. He doesn't really _want_ to talk to her.

But he doesn't want to ignore her, either.

He takes a middle path and nods before going back to checking his wing.

She notices this and says, "They took some of yours, too?" She extends one of her wings as far as she can in her cramped prison. There's a gap about three feathers wide near the end.

She's awfully chatty.

He nods again. What if he tries to talk to her and the words don't come out right? He hasn't uttered a single word in _months_.

"I always fight them when they come."

She wants out just as much as he does.

Maybe they can help each other.

He needs to gain her trust if they're ever going to work together to get out of here.

Which means talking.

"Me too." He's grateful when the phrase comes out right.

She smiles at him, and he gives a tentative one back.

They're stuck here together. No use in being enemies.

She realizes the same thing, because she sighs and says, "Looks like we're stuck here together."

"Yeah."

He finally figures out what the feeling is that's been growing inside him.

Warmth.

**A/N: I'm actually rather impressed with the way this came out. What do you think?**

**Please review!**


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